Daniel Sada - Almost Never

It was a matter of a certain amount of obstinacy to keep one’s eyes peeled westward up the street for more than two hours, even more to hold those particular four eyes thus and through that shop door, an obstinacy finally rewarded by the joyous glimpse of Demetrio’s approaching figure, at which point both cried in unison: Look! He’s coming, with Doña Telma kneeling (for a while already) in a ridiculously doddering gesture. Get up, don’t act the fool! Nevertheless, the theatricality was enacted — of course! though with a bit less solemnity. So, when Demetrio arrived, the solicitous mother made a move to embrace him. You can probably imagine the droning intonation of her plea for forgiveness: verbal twists like sloppy swaddling, then muteness the moment the big guy shook off the embrace and began to tick off his news like rosary beads, indifferent to his mother’s tearful pantomimes, all of which were undoubtedly observed out of the corner of the eyes of some passersby. For this scene took place on the bench; inside would have been preferable, but such qualms of privacy ran counter to the torrent of topics broached in the heat of the moment, consistent with … well, let’s pick up some of Doña Telma’s vociferations: Look what I’ve done! I’ve come all this way to ask for your forgiveness … I, who gave you a suitcase to carry your clothes and money … I, who fixed the hem on your pants, this being the range of vulgarities more or less worth repeating, until Demetrio countered, voicing his delight at being hired by Don Delfín to manage three ranches between there and Sabinas, that he would be generously compensated but that he would have time off only on certain weekends. In fact, his volley had a ways to go but Doña Zulema interrupted him with an order: Let’s go inside, please! I dislike exhibitionism! They obeyed the director of the play, as it were, and now the same scene was enacted in the living room: his mother trying to hug him and he pushing her away with a flick or two while the volume of her relentless rant rose. Not on her life! though, fearful that this would continue, Doña Zulema issued another order, this time definitive:

“Demetrio, forgive her already! Pity your poor mother.”

And he, still pompous and peevish, mumbled:

“You know what, Auntie? I’ve been thinking about this for several days. Now I just want to let some time pass before I decide to forgive her.”

Doña Telma, crying out her eyes, took refuge in a bedroom.

Then Demetrio continued his story about how he’d deposited a large portion of his money in a bank in Monclova, in an account where he’d always have access to his—

“That’s enough! Go to your mother and ask her to forgive you. I demand it.”

“Neither you nor the Holy Father can demand anything of me. Right now I’m going to go sleep in the hills.”

“The hills!? Really, Demetrio, don’t be so ungrateful. Your mother is an elderly woman, you must take pity on her. You are making a big mistake.”

Opportune words — were they arm-twisting? Two individuals on the verge of tears. Both flushed, by the way. And the emotional surprise — at last! The big guy went to his little mother.

There the lachrymose huddle.

Here, in the living room, the hostess atremble, proud to have played the part of the sensible despot.

Let it be known, then, that mother and son remained in that saint-filled room all night long. Also, that they prayed together and slept together. It was good they didn’t dine. It would have done them harm. Also good that they emerged from the room the next morning holding hands. Both poised and apparently without any trace of ugliness still soiling their souls. To sleep together but without touching. As for the rest, the three at the table and eating a breakfast of fried eggs, bread, and café con leche. The conversation was decidedly pleasant.

Plans and more plans.

No restraint from anybody to anybody.

Flowing, fortuitous?

Doña Telma was resigned to returning to Parras alone. She dared not try to persuade her son to tell such an unfortunate ranch job to go to hell … And, to repeat: there was no occasion for either lady to express even the most oblique reproach. The reins, so it seems, were being loosened, ex professo. The two señoras, therefore, exhibiting some backward intelligence, allowing an ignominy to pass. Their combined synthesis of an unfortunate syllogism was this: that Demetrio would field the blows as they came. Neither Parras nor Sacramento nor Monclova but rather grim isolation — out there! where — who knows! in the so-called outskirts of Sabinas, Coahuila. All that was thought but not by those two gray-haired dames.

Good-bye hugs, finally, at early morn. Let’s agree that the three of them slept outside, each on his or her own cot, and definitely without covers … For the heat at that time of year …

Ah, Doña Telma departing, carrying a light suitcase. She walked (let’s mention the swish of her skirt keeping time with the shrugging of her shoulders) as if she wanted to shrink, let us say, under the authority of the sun. It would seem that her disappearance was going to be real, in spite of her having been forgiven and even though her son had curled up like a baby in their shared bed. As the brightness effaced her, there rose in the aunt and the nephew some kind of hypothesis that the señora had taken on a true maternal stance, that is, she was able to place herself in limbo awaiting circumstances that would bring her news of his good or ill fortune without her trying to affect the course of events. Perhaps she would never see her son again, perhaps she would see him soon, who knew, but in the meantime, while she was boarding the horse-drawn carriage that would take her to La Polka, and then to the boat and then to the train, she understood that her exhausting trek had had the desired effect, for she had planted in Demetrio a sentimental uncertainty, such as the possibility of returning, or half of a fiction that might never be completed. From then on resignation would work its magic and hence the amazed onlookers (Doña Zelma and Demetrio), for this was how they understood things. I don’t think we should keep watching her or we’ll get sad, the aunt said as she reached out her hand and gently pulled her nephew into the shop. Inside, the repackaging of ideas, though first a request: Give me a hug, Demetrio. I want to feel that you love me as much as you love your mother and Renata. The big guy resisted. At that moment, a hug would mean he’d shudder, so no, too cloyingly sweet, this setting things right — what for? or due to something much simpler: he couldn’t make light of his regrets, he had no reason to make a fuss about what still hurt, and so he plainly said: Not now, Aunt. Maybe I’ll give you a hug tomorrow. Thus he spared himself the explanations and created distance and reserve and threw a little salt upon that sweetness that threatened to drive him mad. In a redundant show of respect, Doña Zulema took (three) steps back, for she also couldn’t tolerate such a rejection; which led, in fact, to a side effect: I ask you please not to go sleep in the hills while you’re staying with me. How to respond to that? with a bemused smile? Not even! Rather — as it happened — with a glance at the reed-covered roof, where — with squinting glances — Demetrio discovered three swallows’ nests: already abandoned and on the verge of a collapse whereby clods would fall, perhaps — one day yes and one day no? To feel — what? — a slow disconnect. Anyway! What Demetrio did as he made his way slowly to his refuge was to keep watching the scattered treasures on the roof. Absentminded madman, though purposeful! To cap it off: seclusion. A masturbation was on its way … Cursed suspicions … Solitary sanctity, on the other hand, though his regrets didn’t lend themselves to pleasure brought about by mechanical means, mere animal rewards, and even worse: no subconscious dejection. But Doña Zulema’s intuitions were sharpening and — what good would it do? More merry harm, of course — or was that incorrigible amusement? What she did was knock on the door, trying to be quite gentle (pleasant knocks, pleasant voice): Demetrio, I’d like you to share my bed with me tonight. I won’t touch you. I just want to feel that I can replace your mother. From inside came a “we’ll see” and let’s say that here concludes an episode of confusing endearments.